


All the Daughters of My Father's House

by Other_Pens



Category: The London Life (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Child Neglect, Comfort, F/M, Fights, Fluff, Other, Regency, Regency Romance, fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 11:20:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7974988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Other_Pens/pseuds/Other_Pens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frederica's relationship with Sir Arthur has always been complicated. George feels it should be much simpler.</p><p>[I wanted to see what a Haverleigh quarrel would look like and this is what happened.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Daughters of My Father's House

_November 1801_  
 

Freddie had done her best to sneak by the door to her husband's study; but the heels of her riding boots were not so soft against the floor as her usual slippers, and she had only gotten as far as the door at the end of the hall before she heard George call her name.  
 

Her sole refuge now being a guileless expression, Freddie smiled coolly as she turned 'round to face him, her hand still on the doorknob.  
 

"You're going out this morning?" he asked, taking in her simple habit at a glance.  
 

"I thought I'd ride over to Hillshaw," said Freddie, brisk as she always was when she found honesty necessary but disagreeable. George made a sound of frustration low in his throat and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "--what? _What_?" 

"I don't understand why you keep going to see him," he said, shaking his head. "You're miserable when you go, and even more miserable when you get back--and I don't imagine your visits afford _him_ any pleasure."

"When Perry's away, he's got no-one...he might not see anybody for weeks, except a few of the servants..." 

"And that is his own doing!" said George. "If he wanted visitors, he ought not to have been such a cantankerous, callous, selfish--" 

" _George_."

"Can you deny it?" asked George, crossing his arms as he peered down at his wife's face with the sort of look which was both questioning and fully aware of the answer. Freddie's lips formed a thin line, and in her fury she could not find any reply. All she could do was let herself out by the hall door and march through the courtyard to where her horse had been brought 'round. "...Fred..." George didn't immediately follow, but nor did Mrs. Haverleigh turn back around--or even stop. "... _Freddie_..." 

He was forced to break into a swift trot to catch up to her, and caught hold of her arm before she could step onto the mounting-block.

"Don't," she said sharply. "Don't even _speak_ to me right now." 

"You're acting as though you have some sort of duty to..." George let out a sigh of frustration and released his hold on her, rubbing his hands over his face instead. "You don't owe him anything, Freds."

"It's not that."

"Then what _is_ it? I cannot fathom why you would waste your time and energy on that man!" 

" _That man_ is my father."

"Well apparently someone forgot to tell _him_ that," snapped George. 

Frederica then gave him a look which would have sent a lesser man back two full paces before she mounted her horse in icy silence and rode away without another word.

* * *

 

Having had well over two hours to craft his careful apology, George was determined not to ruin his approach with any blundering haste when he heard the clatter of hooves which heralded Freddie's return. He forced himself to watch ten full minutes tick by on the hands of his pocket-watch before he went upstairs and knocked softly at the door to her room.  
 

"...Freds?" he called out. "May I come in?"  
 

There was a brief silence before her faint _yes_ bid him to enter. Her maid was only just departing with the riding-habit and boots in her hands, bobbing a brief curtsy as she passed him on her way out. Freddie sat at her dressing-table, rubbing a dab of some sweet-scented salve into her hands, and did not immediately look up.  
 

"...have you come to say 'I told you so'?" she asked quietly.  
 

George took his seat on the floor at her feet, his back resting against the sundry little drawers ranged along the front of the dressing-table, and reached to take hold of her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze.  
 

"I wouldn't dream of it," he said. "...Freddie, I am _so_ sorry..."  
 

"But you were right! Of course you were right!" she insisted. "I knew it, but I...I just..." Freddie shrugged helplessly, and George took the hand he held and pressed it to his lips, his heart beating a little faster with giddy relief when she twined her fingers with his. "...when I was small I kept trying to love him...I felt as if I should...but then I would see you...all of you, with your father, and I just knew it wasn't the same, at all. After a while I just wanted to understand him, even if I could not love him. I still don't understand." 

"You don't have to make yourself understand him. If he will not be open and honest with anyone, there is no way to know..."

"No, I _must_..." she said, shaking her head. "As much as I cannot bear to think of it sometimes, whatever he is, he...he is a part of me. The way, when the house was so quiet, even a single word or a look from him could fill a room...it would block out or smother everything else. Everything would just turn...cold. He still--" 

Freddie bit her trembling lip, her throat swelling too tightly for her to find any more words.

"You're a part of a new family, now," George said. "And you always will be...truly, I think you always were, even before you were so endlessly foolish as to throw yourself away on a mere country gentleman with no title or grand connections," he added, desperate to see her smile at his teasing. 

Freddie could not help it--she did smile, but it was a feeble sort of response. However much she wanted to believe that, and felt the principle of what George meant, she could not allow it all to be true.

"...not always," she said. "I appreciate all your parents tried to do, for me and for Perry, but we were never free to call them mother and father...however much we may have wanted to. There were still the days...weeks, months, years..." The days of living under Sir Arthur's shadow, without a glimpse of the sunshine and loving warmth that filled the Haverleigh household. 

George stretched out one leg and held out his arms to Freddie, who accepted his wordless invitation and slipped from her perch to settle herself in his lap, tucking her head under his chin while his free hand traced a line between her shoulder and elbow with his fingertips.

"Those days are gone," he said softly. "They're gone forever, Freds." 

"...do you know what he said, today? When I offered to bring little George to visit him, next week? ' _Why?_ ' That was all he said..." Freddie didn't look up, but George felt the sudden spots of heat on his sleeve where two tears had fallen, and needed no other prompting to bend his head so he could kiss away the rest of them.

"You're never to go back there alone," he said fiercely. "Not without me. Promise me you won't." 

Freddie shook her head, and George took it as her agreement. When Freddie meant to fight anything, her resistance was palpable even in the air that surrounded her. Now she was only weary and resigned, and let herself be still and safe in his arms.

"I hope our next child is a girl," she muttered. "I hope we have nothing but daughters from now on...all of them horrible bluestockings who will torment him with their making very inelegant love-matches with complete nobodies, or else remaining happy, comfortable spinsters!" 

George chuckled a little, letting himself kiss the top of her head.

"Yes," he said. "Surely our best revenge will be to be happy, in spite of him." 

Freddie was able to smile with greater ease, then, though a flush of half-shy awareness warmed her cheeks when she spoke again.

"...what do you think of the name Margaret, if it is a girl?" she asked slowly. 

"Hmm--what? ... _what_?"

"Do you not like the name?" she asked, her tone far too light, her eyes too bright for innocence. 

"...Fred...Freddie. No, _look at me_ , you impudent minx! What do you mean?"

"...well I think that's the last you'll be seeing of me on horseback, for a while." When she saw her husband could not immediately speak, but only grin rather besottedly, Freddie reached up to pinch his chin with evident satisfaction. "How's that for our best revenge?" 

George gathered her closer in his arms and tried (with only partial success) to lightly cough away the swelling feeling that was spreading through his throat and chest.

"Good," he said hoarsely, with a laugh. "Very good."


End file.
